Shattered
by Charged Lightning
Summary: 'It was with a heart wrenching reality that Merlin realized Arthur was never going to accept his magic.' Before him, Arthur Pendragon is restrained by Morgana, her men, and Mordred. And in the end, Merlin is too late. For everything. Takes place a long time after season 4. One shot. Warning: Major character deaths, not Merlin.


Warning: Major character deaths, not Merlin.

Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_.

* * *

Merlin ran and ran. He briefly saw a small band of Morgana's men, and vaguely saw them fly backwards. For a split second the thought that they were probably dead drifted through his mind. He ran to the edge of the clearing and darted behind a large boulder, and the sight before him made his mind feel trapped in a nightmare. In front of him, Arthur was kneeling on the ground, held down by two of Morgana's men, with his hands tied behind his back and his sword lying on the ground in front of him. Standing in front of them were Morgana, nearly twenty of her men, and Mordred. He heard footsteps coming from behind. More of Morgana's men. He continued staring forward as his wrist automatically flicked and he distantly heard a crashing sound behind him.

"Why, Mordred?" Arthur's voice broke.

Mordred steeled his gaze at Arthur, still not saying anything.

"I think you know the answer to that," Morgana spat instead. "Or maybe you don't, do you? You know, you've killed so many of us that I was beginning to think you were a direct reincarnation of Uther. An emotionless, hate driven maniac that couldn't possibly understand."

Arthur glanced at his sister briefly, then turned back to Mordred. "I… I saved you once," he tried.

Mordred's cold eyes still pierced through Arthur's.

"Surely, magic doesn't corrupt that much."

Morgana snickered, and Merlin felt his heart drop.

"I've made mistakes," Arthur pleaded.

Mordred turned his head away, then looked back at Arthur, his gaze even harder. "I can _never_ forgive you."

Merlin watched as Mordred bent down to pick up the sword. Just then, Merlin felt pure fright rush through his veins. This could be the moment he had dreaded ever since he had saved him as a boy. "No!" he yelled, and the weapon flew from Mordred's hands.

Arthur and Morgana's eyes both widened in shock. Merlin looked down at his outstretched hand, and noticed that it was shaking. Violently. Lowering his arm, he looked back up, and Arthur continued to stare at him in complete disbelief. Merlin felt a warm tingle in his hand as he shifted his gaze to Morgana, who recovered first.

"So, it looks like I will just have to kill you too then," she said indifferently. Her face hardened, and she pulled out a dagger, from which Merlin could feel sickly magic emanating.

For a split moment, Merlin froze at her reaction. After everything they had been through, she didn't even _care_ that he had magic. For years, he had imagined his last encounter with her. The words of regret he would say. The fury she would unleash. He had prepared himself to see the hurt in her eyes that would remind him of the friend she used to be, the expression he knew would make it hard for him to kill her. But there was nothing. No words, no last pleas, no heartbreak, no hatred. Nothing. And that _burned_. His eyes flashed once as he watched her fly backwards for the last time.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur rushing toward Mordred, who was bent over. The former druid turned around in time to see Arthur stab him in the front, and he looked up in shock. Not long ago, Merlin remembered feeling pity for Mordred, as if he were merely misguided. But now, he felt disturbingly relieved. "Arthur," Merlin breathed.

And then he felt a dark tingle, and Arthur gasped. Merlin watched with horror as Mordred's eyes glowed as he pulled Morgana's dagger away from Arthur's heart and fell lifelessly to the ground.

"Arthur!" Merlin screamed. In the distance, he heard a loud crash as he ran towards his friend.

Arthur fell to his knees.

"NO!" He grabbed hold of Arthur as he fell sideways to the ground.

Merlin pulled the dagger out and held his shaking hand over the wound. "Haele," he croaked. He tensed as he watched the wound slowly begin to heal. Arthur's breathing steadily became easier. "Arthur," Merlin breathed again. But then Arthur gave an uncharacteristic ragged gasp.

Then he realized. The dagger was laced with poison. The magic in the dagger allowed it to contain the poison in the first place, and Mordred's last bit of magic was to multiply and speed up its effects. The wound had healed, but the poison stayed. And in the cruel irony of it all, he didn't know what the poison was. Both people who knew were dead.

Arthur sat up and gained some of his strength back, having healed from the stab wound. Merlin had to try something. He reached out toward Arthur, who flinched and backed away.

"Arthur," Merlin begged. Merlin felt numb as he looked at the hurt on Arthur's face. He reached out again. This time, Arthur looked up, a single tear in his eyes, and he fell backwards as Merlin caught him.

"Agieme," Merlin tried. He thought of all the poisons that were commonly mixed with magic, which typically weren't the ones Gaius had. "Lacne! Gehaele! Purhhaele!" Without knowing the poison, he didn't know what could save him.

Arthur's eyes widened in fright once he heard the spells and he gasped and fought, trying to push Merlin away. It was with a heart wrenching reality that Merlin realized Arthur was never going to accept his magic. Still, he had to try to save him. "Halige. Gieme. Gelacne!" Then suddenly, the king fell limp. He tried to gasp for air, but his breath got caught and he chocked. Slowly, he tilted his head upwards, his eyes watering, and whispered, "Why?"

And then his breathing stopped and his eyes stilled. In that moment, Merlin was stunned. Arthur had just found out who he really was, and there was nothing he could say to him, because in this nightmare world, Arthur had just died. He could barely remember a time -was that yesterday?- when he thought he was preparing for the worst. For Arthur banishing him. For Arthur executing him. For Arthur yelling at him and saying they would never be friends again. For having to sacrifice himself and lay dying and watch as his friend looked at him, hurt.

All along, he had prepared himself for that last look of betrayal on Arthur's face. But he had never prepared for his friend dying.

Numbly he looked around and took in a gasp at the sight before him. There were dead bodies, strewn everywhere. What had happened? He looked over at where Arthur had been tied up, and saw the rope severed and two men lying dead beside it.

He felt dazed as he glanced over at the dead bodies of Morgana and Mordred. He noticed a small bottle lying on the ground that had fallen out of a pouch around her neck. Trembling, he laid the body of Arthur Pendragon down and walked over to pick it up.

And then his world _shattered_. He screamed. He screamed and screamed, the sky thundering overhead. He screamed as fiery lightning struck down, setting the field ablaze. He screamed as water gushed out of the sky and stung his face.

And then he cried as the rain poured and slowly put out the flames. He cried and collapsed like a rag doll to his knees. He cried as his eyes fell on the word he could still read, scratched on the tiny bottle now lying broken on the ground.

Hemlock.


End file.
